


don't want new, i want you

by ringer



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Awkward Conversations, Cussing, Denial of Feelings, Dialogue Heavy, Face Punching, Flashbacks, Kissing in the Rain, Light Angst, Lots of it, M/M, Party, finally rated m for all the cussing, junhoon are dating what's new, soonyoung is a ghoster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-10-24 16:00:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20708702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ringer/pseuds/ringer
Summary: Shit always happens at Jackson Wang’s parties. Shit like getting punched in the face and having someone you swore you’d never miss come back into your life — just ask Jeon Wonwoo.





	don't want new, i want you

Junhui huffs as he helps Wonwoo up the steps, muttering to himself in Chinese. Wonwoo’s Chinese is subpar at best, but he assumes it’s got something to do with the blooming bruise on his cheek and how heavy he is, despite his appearances.

“Can you, for once, stop trying to get into shit?” Jihoon whispers, trying to wriggle the doorknobs open. He narrows his eyes at Wonwoo, who has the audacity to smirk at him.

“Jackson Wang’s parties are notorious for being shit-stirrers.” Wonwoo winces when Junhui accidentally knocks him into one of the door frames. “But hey, if you say please I might consider.”

Jihoon manages to find an open door and urges them inside, making sure to push Wonwoo’s back extra hard. “You’re an idiot,” he deadpans, closing the door behind him. “And I hate you.”

“Take it easy on him,” Junhui tells his boyfriend. “He’s hurt.”

“Which wouldn’t have happened if he watched his alcohol and stayed the fuck away from You-Know-Who,” Jihoon scoffs.

Wonwoo grumbles, falling back on the bed. “You two dragged me here when I could have spent my night doing my readings again! It’s all your fault.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jeon. You should have gotten a bigger bag of peas so I don’t have to hear your incessant wailing.”

Wonwoo looks at Junhui, who can only shrug half-heartedly as an apology for his boyfriend’s words. Jihoon is notoriously blunt, to the point where he made one of the younger music majors break down in tears because they couldn’t remember the key of their original piece. It was traumatic, apparently.

Luckily for him, Wonwoo can be just as witty. “Sorry, they were all out of T-bones the size of my head.”

Jihoon stares pointedly at Junhui. “I can’t stand him. Can we leave him now?”

Junhui sighs, patting Wonwoo’s head gently. “Come look for us when you’re feeling better. Just keep that next to your head and don’t do anything stupid.”

“Too late for that.”

“Lee Jihoon, I’m going to tackle you to the floor and smother you with kisses in public if you don’t — ”

“Okay, _okay_, lovebirds, you can go away now!” Wonwoo groans. “You’ve made your point. Enjoy the damn party. And tell Jeonghan _hyung_ to find another place to have his tryst!”

Junhui blows him a kiss from the door. “No promises!”

Once the door clicks and Wonwoo is sure he’s left alone, he sighs loudly and closes his eyes. His head is throbbing and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the alcohol or if it’s because he’s still reeling from the pain. He didn’t know just how hard his cousin could throw a punch; but he’d always been stronger, even when they were kids.

He doesn’t need to know how he got punched in the face by Jeongguk, because that memory is going to stay in his mind for as long as he lives. He doesn’t remember much of the _before_: him in a drunken haze, stumbling from the loss of balance. Someone reaching out to him, a handsome face too close for comfort. His hands clutching said handsome face, and leaning in. 

The _after_, on the other hand, is clear as day: knuckles crashing into his cheekbone, the force so strong he topples to the floor, his glasses flying off his face and clattering to the side. His vision had flashed white as he heard his cousin hurl obscenities at him. When his vision cleared, Junhui and Jihoon had been on either side of him, shuffling him away from the dining room.

Jeonghan had reluctantly brought him a bag of frozen peas, muttering about how Wonwoo should feel ashamed that he had so _rudely_ interrupted the _interesting_ conversation between him and Joshua, an American exchange student, just because Jihoon had told him to fetch Wonwoo something for his bruise. “If I check in on you later, my mission failed,” he’d said, sighing dramatically. “Don’t come looking for me!”

The door clicks opens again and Wonwoo groans loudly, sighing. “Jihoon, if you’re here to lecture me again, _I swear to God_ — ”

“... Sorry, I’m not Jihoon.”

_That voice_. Wonwoo would know that voice anywhere.

He sits up immediately, not bothering to put on his glasses. He squints, and Wonwoo’s stomach drops. It’s like someone has poured a bucket of ice water on him, turns him stone-cold sober.

He hasn’t seen Kwon Soonyoung in a year.

Soonyoung is slimmer now, his once chubby cheeks gone. His face is sharper, more angled; and his hair is no longer silver. It’s dark brown, half slicked back, and it makes him look even more striking. His white button-down is half tucked in, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His silver jewelry glitters when he moves, contrasting beautifully with his new tan.

When he recognizes Wonwoo, Soonyoung seems to be frozen in place. He gapes at him before clearing his throat and straightening up, mumbling, “_You_ — sorry, I’ll just go — ”

“_No_.” The word comes out of Wonwoo’s mouth a little too forcefully. He blames the alcohol and the throbbing pain in his cheek. The next few words are hopefully a little softer, ones he hopes he won’t regret.

“Stay, Soonyoung. It’s whatever.”

He regards Wonwoo for a moment before closing the door. He walks over, and sits on the other edge of the bed. “I just wanted a place to get away from the party for a little bit.”

Wonwoo hums. He can still hear the bass thumping downstairs, so strongly that he swears he can feel the ground shake under his feet. Someone yells about people enjoying the party — _Jackson, probably_ — and he hears cheers. “Me too.”

Soonyoung shuffles, turning to face him. “Why do you have peas on your face?”

He snorts. Wonwoo lowers the bag of peas to present his bruise, bright red on his cheekbone.

Soonyoung gasps, inching closer without realizing it. A hand reaches up, as if to touch it. His fingers twitch. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“No, of course not, Soonyoung. I got punched in the face.” He puts the bag of peas back up. “I deserve it, though. Kissed my cousin’s boyfriend.”

Soonyoung gasps. “Your cousin. Jeongguk, right? So that was why — ”

“Mhm.”

“You kissed Kim Mingyu.” 

_Kim Mingyu,_ Hospitality major. _Kim Mingyu,_ the boy everyone who takes everyone’s breath away every time he walks into a room. _Kim Mingyu,_ the one person he shouldn’t have kissed tonight. “Yup.”

Soonyoung sits back, running a hand through his hair. “_Wow_. I didn’t take you for a homewrecker, Jeon.”

At this, Wonwoo bristles. “I’m not.” He can feel the peas get warmer, and the condensation starts to drip on the bed cover. “I just wanted to feel the same way I did the last time I went to Jackson hyung’s party.”

“Did it work?” Soonyoung’s voice is small.

“No,” he scoffs. That's a joke if he could ever sense one.

“Why not?”

Wonwoo narrows his eyes. “Take a guess.”

He watches Soonyoung try to process it, how a look of confusion turns to one of realization, and then to embarrassment. “_Oh_.”

It’s so innocent that he forgets to be upset for a moment — did he really forget about what happened? Because Wonwoo hasn’t. He doesn’t think he ever will.

“Look, about that — ”

Wonwoo shakes his head, turning away. He puts on his glasses. Now he’s starting to regret telling him to stay, acting as if it was actually okay for them to be in the same room. “Save it, Soonyoung. I don’t want to hear your excuses.”

“I — ”

“You _left_ me.” Wonwoo whips his head around, clenching his jaw. “You can’t just fuck off to another country after a confession, do you know — do you know how _shitty_ that is?”

Soonyoung looks at him as if he’s been slapped, and his lip quivers. “I had to. You would have told me to do it if you knew. To follow my dreams.”

“But _I didn’t know_, that’s the thing!” He’s trying so hard not to boil over with rage right now. Wonwoo is usually calm, lethargic, even; but there are certain things he’s known to crack for. “I thought I could make something out of it. It took me so long to get my feelings straight just so I could tell you. If I would have known you were leaving, I wouldn’t have said anything. Simple as that.”

Quiet Soonyoung is a bad thing. It’s bad because he’s usually full of life, stars in his eyes and sunshine for a soul. It’s like he glows from the inside, especially when he dances; and that’s how Wonwoo knew — the way the world seemed to stop whenever he saw him with that big, bright smile on his face.

Quiet Soonyoung on the other hand, is colder, stiffer; the way people think Wonwoo is when they first meet him. His fingers twitch and his eyes are focused on keeping them steady, as if he’s desperately looking for something for them to do other than just stay still. “Wonwoo-yah,” he whispers, hurt clear in his voice. “I didn’t have a choice.”

He sounds so hurt that Wonwoo softens, just a little bit, enough to fold into himself. It’s not like him to be so angry; but emotions have always been his weakness — he either feels too much or not enough. “Yes, you did. You just didn’t take it. There’s a difference.”

He wipes the condensation off his hands. “I waited for you for a goddamn _year_ to talk to me. A message, text, something so I knew you remembered me and what I said.” He scoffs. “It felt like fucking _forever_.”

Soonyoung‘s hands are still shaking. “You could have gotten over me.”

“_Clearly_ I didn’t.”

The words slip out of his mouth too quickly, and Soonyoung looks up at him. Wonwoo’s chest aches when he does, but he tries to will it away. His eyes zero in on Soonyoung’s parted lips, a flash of white teeth peeking underneath. He looks away before he can get caught staring.

He stands, sighing. “I’m going home. Sorry if I ruined your night or whatever. I know you come to Jackson _hyung’s_ parties to have a great time, not a shitty one.”

He takes one step before Soonyoung reaches out and grabs his wrist. He keeps his grip light, and Wonwoo is too weak to keep walking. “Wonwoo-yah,” Soonyoung pleads. “Please don’t. Let me explain — ”

“_Fuck off,_ Soonyoung.” Wonwoo is surprised at how venomous he sounds, how Soonyoung flinches right before he lets go. “I don’t want to talk to you about it. Actually, I think it’d be better if you just left me alone. Like tonight — or anything between us — never happened.” He knows this isn’t drunkenness talking, but the words keep tumbling out as if it is. He hates it, but he doesn’t know how to stop. Wonwoo’s never learned how to put a leash on his temper.

Right as he’s got one foot out the door, he stops. He doesn’t look at the boy sitting on the edge of the bed, because he doesn’t know what will happen if he does. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

The door closes with a click and Wonwoo makes his way down the stairs slowly. When he reaches the bottom, he flings the half-frozen bag of peas to the side. If someone slips on it, he doesn’t care. The bitterness simmering inside of him would rather laugh at their misfortune.

He catches Jeonghan sitting on the couch with who he assumes is Joshua, who radiates softness with his doe eyes and pouty lips. The multiple piercings through his ears and the mischief hidden in his smile say otherwise, though.

“Jeonghan _hyung_,” he announces. “I’m done for tonight. Take me home.”

Jeonghan looks incredibly peeved to see Wonwoo hovering over them; but he flashes Joshua a smile and excuses himself, dragging the taller boy along with him. When they’re in a corner, the smile quickly fades into a scowl. “What the _fuck_, Jeon Wonwoo? I told you not to come looking for me!” he hisses.

“You’re the first person I saw,” he says, shrugging. “Not my fault you were in my line of vision.”

Jeonghan sighs. “Kids these days, never giving you time to breathe. What am I, a lump of flesh with a mouth to serve your every whim?” He looks back for a second before tugging on Wonwoo’s sleeve. “Don’t answer that. You’re a smartass even when you’re drunk.” He looks around, narrowing his eyes once he’s found his targets. “Come. I’ve found your babysitters.”

He marches over to Jihoon and Junhui before standing behind Wonwoo, practically shoving him into their arms. “You two take him home. I still have a date I need to schedule and I’m not leaving until I get it. Drive safe!”

“Jeonghan _hyung_, wait!” Junhui calls, but Jeonghan keeps walking until he returns to the couch.

Jihoon sizes Wonwoo up, narrowing his eyes at him. “You got rid of the bag. Where the fuck are Jackson hyung’s peas?”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “Somewhere near the stairs. I’ll be fine without them.” Questionable, but they don’t need to know that. He can ignore the dull, throbbing ache for the twenty-five minutes they’re on the road. “Can we go home now?”

They nod, and stand on either side of him to make sure he keeps his balance. Junhui utters a quick goodbye in Cantonese to the host of the party as they past by — Wonwoo thinks he said _Thanks, Boss_, but he's not quite sure.

As they make their way to Junhui’s car, Wonwoo pipes up, “Hey, did you know Kwon Soonyoung is back in town?”

The boys on either side of him stiffen. He scoffs. “Of course you fucking did.”

* * *

A year ago, Soonyoung was Junhui’s roommate. They’d shared a two-bedroom unit situated just above a flower shop, a little farther from campus but right next to the train station. It wasn’t perfect, considering how noisy it could get at random times in the day, the train tugging past and the night scene thriving down below; but it was home.

Wonwoo hadn’t caught much of Soonyoung before — it seemed the latter was always busy. Any time he did it was in passing, a poke of the head behind a heavy door or someone speeding from the entrance straight to his room, ready to knock out from exhaustion. Junhui had explained that dance was Soonyoung’s life; so much so that it hadn’t deterred him from having a part-time job as a dance instructor for kids _while_ being a dance major at university. Wonwoo had always thought of that as admirable, mainly because he could never live and breathe just _one_ thing constantly. 

They finally met properly when the roommates were paired up for an assignment, a month-long project where they had to spend equal time in the studio and in the library. Wonwoo, for the most part, was more than pleased to have people join him for a few study sessions every week. Sure, the topics were different, but what mattered was that they all got something done. And with study group, joint lunches or dinners always came after.

(Another entry to the group: Lee Jihoon, music major; who happened to be Soonyoung’s best friend and the object of Junhui’s affections. When asked about it, Junhui had simply said, “_Opposites attract, baby!_” with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. He _knew _he could rope Jihoon into dating him. Wonwoo was terrified of his best friend’s power.)

A week before the presentation, Junhui to take a sudden plane ride back home to China due to a family emergency; leaving Soonyoung to panic over their incomplete work. Wonwoo, without knowing a lick of modern dance, had offered to help out as best as he could. They met up in the library almost every day, and Wonwoo even crashed at Soonyoung and Junhui’s living room a few times just so they could get as much work done as possible. 

Junhui came back in time for the presentation, and they ended up getting quite high scores. Soonyoung had even hugged Wonwoo after, whispering his thanks into his ear. “You’re my hero, my Prince Charming.”

It made him shudder.

Since then, the four of them had been inseparable — working together proved they could manage it without getting too distracted; evenly balanced to the point where it felt like they had their own little world. Over time Junhui had gotten braver, asking Jihoon out on dates; it came as a shock to everyone the first time the latter had agreed. 

Soonyoung, never one to be left out, had suggested he and Wonwoo go on _friendly_ dates so they didn’t feel like third wheels. (Wonwoo had almost choked on his milk at that. He still agreed, though.)

Wonwoo doesn’t recall the exact moment he fell for Soonyoung. There was the one time they’d gotten drunk by the Han River and _literally_ tripped over each other, their faces so close Wonwoo swore he was so close to kissing Soonyoung then and there. Or that one time they’d gone up N Seoul Tower, watched someone get proposed to by the love locks, and Soonyoung had dreamily sighed, “God, I wish someone loved me as much as they did.”

But if he had to choose, it would be on a cold day in December, at the Christmas party organized just before they’d all go back home for the holidays. Soonyoung had begged everyone to come in Christmas-themed outfits; with him dressing up as Santa and Junhui as a tree. Jihoon, having lost a bet with Wonwoo, had reluctantly worn an elf hat. Wonwoo had watched Soonyoung struggle to put up the star: a horribly gaudy, old-gold thing that had a few dents in from crashing on the floor a handful of times. Soonyoung had stood on the armrest of the couch, tiptoeing as he delicately placed the star on top. He’d babbled nonstop about how he’d planned to get the Kwon Christmas angel from his grandmother, but knew he’d failed miserably when she started talking his ear off about tradition. When he’d finished, he climbed back down, and turned on the switch for the Christmas lights. The whole tree lit up and he clapped, looking so happy and bright that Wonwoo felt his heart lurch. His ugly Christmas sweater and reindeer ears weren’t what kept his attention that season — it was Soonyoung, with his megawatt smile and the stars in his eyes. He’d almost dragged him under the mistletoe that night.

In true literature major fashion, he would have guessed that their time spent together, sans Junhui and Jihoon, had built up to this. Maybe it was because their friends had their own thing happening and they wanted something of their own — it didn’t necessarily have to be similar, but that’s what had happened.

Wonwoo decided that he was going to confess on the night of Jackson Wang’s party. Jeonghan, as effortly crafty as he was; had managed to wheedle Junhui into spilling just what Wonwoo was about to do. He had promised that he would help get them together that night, no matter what it took; and how many people he had to con to get there. Wonwoo did not ask for further clarification.

(One of the people Yoon Jeonghan managed to successfully con? MBA major Jackson Wang, who seemed to have a thing for people getting together at parties. _His_ parties, mostly.)

Wonwoo doesn’t remember most of the party. What he _does_ remember, with heated cheeks and pursed lips, is him and Soonyoung, intoxicated, stumbling into a cab together. Soonyoung rubbing the inside of his thigh, drunkenly whispering and giggling into his ear. Drunk on lust, Wonwoo had almost forgotten to pay the cab driver.

He remembers every single thing that had happened when they finally reached his apartment, from how red Soonyoung’s lips looked after he’d kissed them to the way his body felt like it was on fire with every touch. The sounds, smell, taste, sight, _touch_ — all remembered with perfect clarity.

Even up to now, Wonwoo remembers three words the most, uttered in between staggered breaths and heated kisses, during and after the events that had conspired that night. He remembers holding Soonyoung in his arms, lips practically pressed against the space in between his neck and the shell of his ear. “I love you, Kwon Soonyoung,” he whispered. He had pressed one final kiss to the salty skin of his neck, and drifted asleep.

The next morning, Soonyoung was gone.

He hadn’t thought much of it until he met up with Junhui for lunch. Wonwoo, unusually fidgety thanks to the events that had transpired the night before, was met with a smirking Junhui.

“Guessing your night went well?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “I guess? I confessed, but he didn’t really say anything. He kind of… left before I woke up.” He sipped his drink. “I was hoping to meet him later today, maybe he’s had time to think about it.”  
  
Confusion crossed Junhui’s face. “Huh? Why would you meet him tonight?”  
  
“... Why wouldn’t I? It’s not like he’s got plans today. It’s Sunday.”  
  
There was an awkward silence as Junhui processed his words, staring at him. Wonwoo saw the confusion in his face flicker into something more intense — remorse, he guessed. Junhui’s mouth dropped. “... Oh, _shit_.”   
  
Now it was Wonwoo’s turn to be confused. “What?”  
  
“… He didn’t tell you.”

He stiffened. “Tell me what?”

An awkward silence followed. Junhui sighed, his expression almost pitiful. “Wonwoo, he’s gone. He left for America just this morning.”

His chopsticks clattered to the floor.

Wonwoo hated his friend’s expression, but he hated this much, much more. It took a moment for the words to sink in, _America_ ringing in his ears like nails against a chalkboard. Panic seized up his throat, and his voice went up a pitch when he spoke. “Don’t fuck around, Junhui.” 

“Do you think I’d lie to you about something like this?” Junhui sighed loudly, and rubbed his face before reclining in his seat. “God, I hate being the messenger of death, why the fuck — _okay_. Let me finish talking before you react: Soonyoung got accepted into the exchange program he applied for, the Juilliard one. He’s spending a whole year in New York and his flight was this morning. His sister drove him to the airport.” He said it all slowly, just so that Wonwoo could take it all in.

But truth be told, it felt more like every word was a sucker punch to the gut. Wonwoo couldn’t breathe. Was that the reason why Soonyoung couldn’t reply — because he was _leaving_? Or maybe he just didn’t feel the same way… or both. Soonyoung had casual hookups, Wonwoo didn’t. It had been stupid of him to think that would change just because they’d slept together.

He did everything he could to calm his breathing, but it just didn’t work. “I don’t know why he didn’t tell me,” he stuttered out, but the more he spoke, the more he felt the lump in his throat grow. “I didn’t even know he got accepted.”

“How did you not catch wind of that? _Everyone_ knew.” When Wonwoo shot him a watery glare, Junhui recoiled. “Sorry. I know it was supposed to be a very big deal for you, Wonwoo.”

“It’s just — ” He sighed frustratedly, running a hand through his hair. Wonwoo could feel the tears beginning to well up. “I wasn’t expecting a response or anything. I just wanted him to stay long enough to acknowledge it.” He sniffled, and swat away at the tears that had begun to roll down his cheeks. “Getting rejected would hurt less.”

Junhui sighed again, but it wasn’t out of pity. “God, this is — really shitty. Especially for you.” He took Wonwoo’s hand and pat it gently. “I don’t know what else to tell you, but fuck him for leaving you in the dust about it. I have full faith you’ll find someone better. It’ll be okay.”

The problem was that to Wonwoo, Soonyoung _was_ the best person, the best option for him. He had nodded in response to Junhui’s words, but his thoughts were troubling, negative — was he really going to find someone better? Did he have it in him to replace Soonyoung, with his star-shine eyes and glittering smile? Probably not.

But he’d been hurt enough to hope that he could.

Bitterly, he added, “With all of the fish in the sea? I fucking hope so.”

* * *

The secondhand bookstore where Wonwoo works at is a twenty-minute train ride from campus, and a seventeen-minute walk to his apartment. When he tells people, he anticipates eyerolls, and he gets it: it’s nothing if not cliche for a lit major to work at a bookstore, where they’re surrounded by the one thing they write their twenty-page essays on for the rest of their lives. The owner is kind and overly patient, and makes Wonwoo feed his pet hamster, Dolly, and clean her cage either before or after his shifts. It’s brightly lit by an old chandelier on the first floor, the whole place sparkling when morning light hits the crystal. The second floor, albeit without a chandelier, is just as bright and warm with the number of glass windows present. The bookstore smells like coffee despite not being a cafe, with well-worn tables and chairs. Many students — mostly Wonwoo’s peers — have curled up on the chairs reading through well-loved copies of books: cracked spines and peeling covers, the pages spotted and yellowing with age. In a weird way, it feels like his second home. Half of Wonwoo’s highly-commended essay on Tolstoy was written and proofread on the purple bean bag on the second floor.

Soonyoung had been the one to point the shop out to him when he’d seen Mr. Lee’s pet in the window. Wonwoo had pointed out that he looked just like her; to which Soonyoung had huffed and puffed his chubby cheeks out, exclaiming that he ‘looked _nothing_ like a hamster.’ It hadn’t stopped Wonwoo from brazenly pinching his friend’s cheeks and calling him cute in public.

But right after hearing that Soonyoung had left for America, Wonwoo had received a call from Mr. Lee saying he’d gotten the job. Because of his association of her to a particular boy, Wonwoo’s attitude towards the pet hamster had quickly changed. When Dolly would look at him with her puffy cheeks and big eyes, he’d bitterly remember the night before he left. But Dolly didn’t know, and it wasn’t her fault, so he still cleans up after her and makes sure her water bottle is filled.

Most of the ice in Wonwoo’s coffee cup has melted when he’s on the last page of inventory. Mr. Lee had insisted that both the inventory book and the database on the computer match; creating extra work for the employees. He’s terrified that one day all the data on the computer with be erased so he stresses the importance of doing inventory every few days so they’ll know if anything is missing. Wonwoo’s not a big fan of inventory, because he thinks it’s practically drudgery. He’s never been good at talking to people, but it’s fairly easy when it’s about something he’s interested in… like books. He’s always ready to recommend more books to their patrons, making sure to listen intently so he can tailor his recommendations to the buyer. He usually takes five minutes, quickly scribbling the titles, and hands them a sticky note with titles he thinks they might love. To his luck, they’ve only gotten the refund question once. 

He quickly scribbles on a sticky note and presses it to the upper left corner of the monitor. _Check done, 6:25 pm_. His shift ends in about twenty minutes, which means he has enough time to lounge around and pick through the ‘new’ releases. He spots a signed copy of a popular YA fantasy book, the name of the previous owner blocked out with Sharpie. As he flips through, he spots pencil marks and eraser dust in the inner crevices of the page. Another is a romance hailed as ‘incredibly steamy’, the spine of the book sporting multiple lines that Wonwoo is surprised it’s still in one piece. But the one that catches his eye is a slice-of-life one, looking brand new instead of well-loved like most of the books in the store. He looks around, and when the coast is clear, he sits, back against the bookshelf.

It’s a light read, and Wonwoo finds himself poring over it — it’s not the most original story, nor is it the most fascinating, but it’s well-paced and the writing is fresh.

He’s made it to the halfway mark when the little bell at the door rings, signifying someone coming in. He looks up, and purses his lips. “I thought I told you to leave me alone.”

Soonyoung stands awkwardly at the entrance, his feet shuffling against the worn-out welcome mat. He tugs on the sleeves of his jacket, sighing. “I was in the neighborhood and Junhui mentioned you work here now, so I thought I’d say hi.”

Wonwoo narrows his eyes at him as he stands. “You’re a terrible liar, Soonyoung.”

“The Junhui thing is true, he _did_ tell me!” Soonyoung exclaims, throws his hands in the air. “But fine, I wanted to come here to talk to you.”

“I’m working.”

“Are you really?”

Wonwoo sighs and puts the book back, moving towards the register. “If you’re just here to piss me off, can you do it some other time? I’m not in the mood and I told you to fuck off.”

“You’re forgetting I’m just as stubborn as you, Jeon Wonwoo.” Soonyoung props his arms up on the counter, and tilts his head. “I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me.”

“Maybe I’ll pretend to take a break from my shift and leave for a year so you can forget.”

Wonwoo can tell that from the way Soonyoung looks as if he’s been slapped that he’s gone too far. Regret crosses his face for a moment, but he doesn’t apologize. Instead, he adds, “But if you’re really insistent on taking up my time, can you at least pretend you’re interested in the books we sell here?”

Soonyoung brightens almost immediately. “Okay. Give me a title you’d recommend for me.”

Wonwoo pretends to start typing away at the keyboard so he looks busy. “Soonyoung, you don’t read. How am I supposed to know what kind of books interest you?”

“I don’t know! Just… anything,” he replies, shrugging. “Whatever you think I’d like. Doesn’t matter if I get into reading because of it or not, I’ll even buy it if the blurb is cool.”

Wonwoo stares at Soonyoung for a moment, and sighs. If Mr. Lee were here, he’d chastise Wonwoo from turning away a potential regular, and start to wax poetic about how anyone can become a lover of reading; they just needed to find the right books. So instead of giving the boy a book he _knows_ he won’t read, whether it be because of the length or syntax; he scribbles down a title he’s guessing (and hoping) he’ll actually like.

He peels it off the post-it stack and smacks it down on the counter. Soonyoung picks it up gingerly, and beams once he’s read the title. “_The Little Prince_ — is this book about me? Can I get a discount for it?”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “No discount, you’re at a secondhand bookstore. We don’t do refunds either.” He points to the stairs. “Second floor.”

* * *

Backpack slung over his shoulder and jacket pulled on, Wonwoo waves goodbye to the store and his fellow employee, whose shift had just begun. Soonyoung follows him out, excitedly clutching _The Little Prince_ in his hands.

“I’ve heard a lot of things about this book, actually,” Soonyoung pipes up, turning it over before shoving it into his bag. “This sophomore Minghao wouldn’t stop talking about it and how it enlightened him. Also said I need that in my — ”

“Before you continue, I just want you to know that your plan to try and get me to loosen up by talking about books won’t work.”

Soonyoung huffs, his lower lip sticking out. A horribly cheesy and traitorous voice inside of Wonwoo dares him to kiss it. “I’d never do such a thing! I genuinely want to read it. And keep your reputation on the line if I can.”

Wonwoo has to stifle a snort at that. “Yeah, right. Appreciate the effort.”

Soonyoung groans. “I mean it.”

He doesn’t want to look at Soonyoung because he knows he’ll feel terribly guilty about it. He’s still got a hold on him after a year, and Wonwoo absolutely hates it. Bastard.

“Whatever.” Wonwoo pretends not to look so guilty. “Where are we going, anyway?”

Soonyoung smiles, and gestures to a nearby cafe. “I hope you don’t totally hate it because of me.”

The cafe is a small building, with large glass windows that allow a look inside. It’s usually swarming with students, but it seems like Wonwoo and Soonyoung are lucky this time around. The exterior is white, while the inside matches: white and tan, with wooden accents to give it a cozy feel. They had used the little cafe as a study place when the library wasn’t working its usual productivity magic, only with decently-priced drinks and a fine selection of desserts. Despite its proximity to the bookstore, Wonwoo hasn’t been back here since Soonyoug left. He frequents other cafes instead.

“I don’t,” Wonwoo says brusquely, and leaves it at that. He pulls open the door and lets Soonyoung go in first.

After they order, they find themselves sitting at their usual table: one just by a window, where they can see the sun setting over the horizon. Today, it paints everything in various shades of blue.

Wonwoo’s hands are wrapped around a steaming mug of hot chocolate, with his sleeves pulled down to his fingers. Soonyoung has always thought that it makes him look smaller, softer than what first impressions make him seem. Sweeter.

“Before you say anything,” Wonwoo starts, “I’d like you to disregard everything I said last night. I was drunk. I say a lot of dumb shit when I drink.”

Soonyoung takes a small sip of his matcha latte. “You seemed pretty sober last night when I was talking to you. And if it’s okay with you, I do need to, uh… talk to you about what you said. It’s important.”

He doesn’t miss how Wonwoo visibly stiffens, leering at him, and how he sighs in defeat a moment later. “Fine. Whatever. Start talking.”

Soonyoung nods. “So, uh, first off, I wanted to apologize for last year — for leaving you like that. I… I get that it wasn’t fair to you, I should have said something even if I didn’t know you felt that way about me. You deserved to know.”

Wonwoo is silent, and focuses on plopping the marshmallows into his hot chocolate. So, Soonyoung continues. “I beat myself up about it, you know. Every single day I was there I would think about you and what you said. How you looked at me. It terrified me.”

Wonwoo furrows his eyebrows. “Why would it terrify you?”

Soonyoung squirms in his chair. “I don’t know. No one’s ever told me they loved me. None of my exes, really — things always seemed to end when I was just about ready to say it.”

The smile that comes out of Wonwoo is a pained one, and to Soonyoung it’s almost mocking. “Well, now you know how it feels. Sucks, right?”

“Don’t do that, Wonwoo, please.” Soonyoung shuts his eyes tightly, shaking his head. Wonwoo knows his words sting, and that he should apologize. But he doesn’t know how. “Let me try to make it up to you.”

When Soonyoung opens his eyes again, Wonwoo is folded into his chair. He pushes his glasses up his nose, his eyes completely avoiding the other’s. “Jihoon told me I needed to ‘fix this shit’ and that it wasn’t fair to you and that I’m a complete idiot — ”  
  
“Jihoon was right about all of those things.”

Now it’s Soonyoung’s turn to bristle. “I wanted to be sure,” he says slowly, taking a large gulp of his drink before continuing. “That how I felt towards you wasn’t because I was pitying you. You know how I am. Sometimes my mouth is faster than my brain.”

Wonwoo crosses his arms. “Thus making you susceptible to, say, telling someone you love them back even when you don’t? Is that what you mean?”

Soonyoung gulps. “Y-yeah. Something like that.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I regretted it every single time. And I didn’t want to do that to you, you know? You’re my friend.”

He snorts in disbelief. “‘_You’re_,’ present tense?”

“You _were_ — past tense, if that’s what you want to hear,” Soonyoung retorts, his neck turning a blotchy red. “You’re acting like such an asshole right now.”

“With the way you left me?” Wonwoo scoffs. “Don’t pretend like I don’t have the right to after the shit you pulled.”

“Wonwoo, I’m trying to _apologize!”_ With every word, Soonyoung’s voice gets louder. People are starting to stare. “I’m acknowledging my sins and trying to make amends but you won’t let me! You’ve been picking out the flaws in literally everything I say ever since last night. Can you step the _fuck_ off my neck for one goddamn second?!”

Soonyoung cursing is a big deal. Since working children’s dance classes at the studio, he’d become a bit more conscious of his word choice; never really cursing unless he’s directly quoting from someone who does (Jihoon) or when he’s incredibly stressed. Wonwoo’s counted two curses since they reunited and with the way the other is growing bright red in the face, there’s probably more heading his way.

Wonwoo folds in on himself even more, eyes focused on his drink. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be.” Wonwoo isn’t even given time to flinch. Soonyoung’s voice is harsh and snappy as he reclines back in his chair, taking a long sip of his drink. His face is still red, but it’s starting to fade. “Anyway. What I was trying to say was that I needed time to figure it out. It just so happened that your confession coincided with my exchange program.”

It's deathly quiet. “How was that, by the way?” Wonwoo attempts, trying to lighten up the mood.

“Good. Really good. I wasn’t much of a jazz dancer, but they focus on contemporary there, so I had to double up on practice.”

“Oh. That must have been… interesting. Fun.”

“It was.”

Awkwardness rises up between them again, and Wonwoo wants to slap himself for such a disastrous attempt. So he focuses on finishing his hot chocolate instead.

After a while, Soonyoung sets down his cup, with only dregs of green remaining. “You know that thing I used to do where someone would confess to me and I agreed to go out with them because I’d feel bad for rejecting someone?”

“Regrettably.” There had been times when Soonyoung would always run late for their meetings and hangouts, with at least one hickey on his neck or his hair completely messed up. Not to say Wonwoo had been jealous at the time, but there isn’t any other way to describe it.

“Well, I wanted to make sure the same thing wouldn’t happen to you,” he says, shrugging. “Especially since you’re practically my best friend — I couldn’t subject you to pity feelings. That would haunt me forever. Could you imagine what it’d be like after we broke up and I’d get reminded of that? Terrible. And everyone knows long distance relationships don’t work out.”

Wonwoo purses his lips together. “But you couldn’t bother to talk to me the entire time you were there, not even once? You could talk to Junhui or Jihoon — multiple times in a month — but your so-called best friend got radio silence instead? I call bullshit, Soonyoung.”

Soonyoung doesn’t look at him. “You’re different. You’ve always been different, Wonwoo-yah.”

“Really? Doesn’t seem like it.” Wonwoo stands, and slings his bag strap over his shoulder. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think I can be around you for too long without remembering what happened. I need time.” His eyebrows scrunch together in frustration. “I’ll see you around, Soonyoung. Sorry if I wasted your time.”

Without looking back, Wonwoo heads out.

He’s five minutes into his walk before a sudden downpour hits, and he curses to himself. He swings his bag around and tries to scrounge around for his umbrella, but it’s nowhere to be found. He doesn’t have time to look for too long; his laptop and books are inside and he’d rather not get them wet. So instead he walks fast, searching the sidewalks for an awning he can stand under for a while.

It’s not long before the rain soaks through his shirt, and water from his hair drips into his eyes. His glasses are covered with rainwater, and he takes them off to try and wipe it off.

“Wonwoo!”

His head peaks up at the sound of his name, and a figure in the distance bolts towards him. He squints at them, but after the second call, he knows exactly who it is.

“Can you please stop following me?” he calls back. “You’ll get sick!”

“I told you,” Soonyoung wheezes, stepping towards Wonwoo. “Stubborn as a mule. You will never get rid of me.”

“You’ve said all you needed to say, can’t you just leave it at that?”

“No!” Wonwoo swears he hears thunder boom in the distance when Soonyoung speaks. “I haven’t said all I _wanted_ to say because your rude ass left.”

_Maybe I just wanted you to feel how much it hurts when you’re the one getting left behind_, Wonwoo thinks, but he’s been cruel enough for one day. And maybe, just maybe, he’s still a little bit curious as to what Soonyoung will say.

Instead, he shakes his head. “Why didn’t you just reject me right then and there? Tell me that you were leaving the next morning. Say no to that night. I would have understood.”  
  
“Maybe I didn’t want to reject you.”

The words feel like whiplash, and Wonwoo visibly flinches. “What the fuck?” he whispers.

Soonyoung sighs. “What I _wanted_ to say earlier was that I figured it out. Around five months into my time in New York — the signs were there but I didn’t figure it out until halfway through. My roommate there, Chan, helped me out with that.” He pushes his wet hair out of his eyes. “They’re not pity feelings, by the way. Not at all.”

He steps closer towards Wonwoo. “What I feel for you is the exact same as what you felt for me last year. If you don’t feel the same way anymore, that’s fine. But I’m telling you now — I like you, Jeon Wonwoo. I think I might even be in love with you.”

Wonwoo’s heart is a car crash waiting to happen, desperately pushing down on the brakes before the inevitable happens. The confession is so sudden that he doesn’t know what else to do but gape at Soonyoung, and his feet feel cemented to the ground. This is his white light, and he‘s forgotten to brace for impact. “Don’t — don’t say it if you don’t mean it, Soonyoung.”

“I meant it,” is Soonyoung’s immediate reply. “Every word.”

Something burns in the corners of Wonwoo’s eyes and he’s not sure if it’s his tears or just acid rain. (Out of embarrassment, he’d highly prefer the latter.) His hand reaches for Soonyoung’s wrist and lightly circles it, pulling him closer. “You can’t take it back, you know that, right?” he warns. Even in dreary weather, Soonyoung’s eyes are sparkling. Wonwoo is _so_ cheesy. “You can’t — ”

“I don’t want to.” 

The world seems to stop completely when Soonyoung reaches up to kiss him, the lightest of touches. If he had his eyes closed, Wonwoo thinks he has every right to believe it’s nothing more than a ghost kiss; but Soonyoung’s hands against his jaw are warm and tangible and _real_, just as real as the lips pressed against his. Soonyoung’s lips are slightly chapped but press against his softly, enough to stop him from shaking too much. It’s not the same kiss from their first one last year, all tongue and teeth and white-hot desire. No, this is gentle and warm and _sure_. A little bit shy, too, but there’s so much feeling behind it that it’s pressed aside. It reminds Wonwoo of the romantic comedies Soonyoung would drag him to watch, the same ones he’d roll his eyes at but secretly daydream of. Him and Soonyoung starring in their own movie, one with a guaranteed happy ending.

When Soonyoung left, it felt like Wonwoo’s life was going to remain a tragedy, steeped in angst and unresolved emotions. Now, it’s the exact opposite. His heart fills when he kisses back.

He’s the first one to pull away, breathless and blinking away the tears caught in his eyelashes. “You — ”

“Yeah.” The tips of Soonyoung’s ears burn bright red, his hands moving down to hold Wonwoo’s. “We should, uh, continue this at my place. It’s just five minutes away and I really don’t want to get hypothermia, especially not after what just happened.”

Wonwoo looks at Soonyoung, who is a little more hopeful and jittery. There’s something in his eyes that’s changed, but under the pelting rain, Wonwoo can’t really see. 

He squeezes Soonyoung’s hands gently, laughing. “Lead the way.”

* * *

Soonyoung’s new studio apartment is slightly flashier than the old one he used to share with Junhui. (Fortunately, Jihoon has been more than happy to cover the other half once they got together.) There isn’t much to it save for the usual furniture, plus a bedside table crammed with all the readings he’s meant to do. Wonwoo doesn’t like how painfully plain it feels, how the place doesn’t feel _quite_ like Soonyoung just yet. Everything is sparkling clean and brand new, painfully obvious that it’s far from lived-in.

Soonyoung pulls Wonwoo to his bedroom and ducks into his closet, tossing him a familiar- looking SNU hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. “Go take a shower,” he orders. “You’re not getting sick on my watch, Jeon.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “I thought we were going to continue whatever _that_ was.”

“Yeah. After you and I stave off hypothermia.” He shoos Wonwoo away. “Go!”

After they’re both finished they find themselves sitting against the headboard of the bed, a good foot or two apart and sitting awkwardly in silence. Rain falls against Soonyoung’s window, and Wonwoo doesn’t know where else to look but there. It isn’t terribly fascinating, but he doesn’t know what else to say.

He looks down at the hoodie, which seems to fit him perfectly. On Soonyoung, it’d be slightly bigger than what he usually wears. As his eyes trail down, he sees a little red heart patch sewn on the left sleeve. It’s not the best sewing technique known to man, but it’s clear that every stitch is meant to make it stay that way.

He knows that heart patch. He’d sewn one onto his own so it wouldn’t get lost; spent three hours trying not to stab himself with the needle after every stitch. Wonwoo’s been looking for that damn hoodie for a year.

“This is mine,” he says quietly. His thumb and forefinger pinch the little heart, bright red against his skin. 

If Wonwoo looks up, he’d see that Soonyoung is stinking at him, not unkindly. “Yeah, I’d planned to give that back to you after I washed it, but, uh… I kind of couldn’t.”

He remembers it clearly: he’d offered his hoodie when there was a sudden downpour, just like this one, Wonwoo’s button-down providing more protection from the rain than Soonyoung’s thin black t-shirt. He’d sewn the little heart on because it signified his ambition to wear his heart on his sleeve quite literally. (Also, he couldn’t find letter patches small enough to make his initials.)

They go back to an awkward silence, dancing around each other as if they’re still in their teens. It’s reminiscent of classic teen movies, Wonwoo thinks, where two people sit on the edge of the bed because they’ve been roped into seven minutes of heaven. The _will they, won’t they_. He’s seen enough American movies for his film elective to know how much he hates waiting for the characters to make a move. God must really have it out for him.

“So,” he starts slowly. “You kissed me earlier. In the rain.”

“That I did,” Soonyoung confirms. “And you kissed back.”

Wonwoo hums. “Yep.” He taps his fingers against his sweatpants, which tighten a little on the sides as he moves. “So what now? We can’t pretend it never happened.”

Soonyoung looks at him pointedly. “I don’t plan on pretending anymore, Jeon Wonwoo. Nor do I want to.”

Wonwoo shifts uncomfortably. He’s not used to this: to seeing Soonyoung be so open and honest about this kind of thing. He’s seen him shuffle through different partners, some coming back for more while others didn’t. He’s always figured it’s because Soonyoung is magnetic, something about him that kept your attention and made you want more.

But Wonwoo has never been greedy. If he is, he’s never been given the chance to show it.

“Maybe I should just go,” he whispers. “I don’t — I don’t want to burden you or anything. Thank you, though, for the clothes and the shower. And helping me stay dry. I’ll wash the pants and return them to you by the end of the week.”

He’s about to peel himself off the bed when Soonyoung reaches for his arm. “Wonwoo-yah… if it’s okay with you, I’d really like you to stay.” His voice is quiet, and his eyes are filled with something Wonwoo can’t find the name of. “Not just because I want you or anything. You’ll just get drenched again and that will be on my conscience.”

He doesn’t need to look because he can hear the rain getting louder, to the point where he can barely hear his own thoughts. The spot where Soonyoung’s hand clasps his arm is oddly warmer than the rest of his body. His words echo in Wonwoo’s head. “You want me.”

Soonyoung’s cheeks turn very, very pink and he gulps. He doesn’t let go. “That’s what I said.”

A smile breaks on Wonwoo’s face. “That’s how I know it’s real.”

“So what, my confession in the rain meant _nothing_ to you?” Soonyoung sputters, eyes blazing. “I know you’re a fuckin’ sap of a lit major, Jeon Wonwoo, you _live_ for this shit. I _kissed_ you! In the _rain_! Like a damn anime character! The least you can do is be appreciative of the fact that I risked hypothermia for _you_!”

The smile on Wonwoo’s face only seems to get bigger. “I never asked you to. You did that all on your own.”

Soonyoung gasps, and promptly moves forward to lightly pound his fists against Wonwoo’s chest. “You’re the worst. I hate you, Jeon Wonwoo.”

“No, you don’t.” Wonwoo’s arms wrap around Soonyoung’s waist to pull him in closer, lips pressing against his. It doesn’t take long until Soonyoung melts into the kiss, slow and languid. Their friends used to joke that Wonwoo, deep down, is a sloth: all of his movements are slow and take the least amount of energy to do. But in the moment Soonyoung doesn’t care; it’s not like he’s got anywhere to be. He doesn’t want to speed things up; they’ve got plenty of time to do that on their own.

He pulls away to tug at Wonwoo’s collar, dragging him down to the bed. Wonwoo kisses him again, hovering over him as the kiss deepens. Soonyoung’s hands grab at him, trying to pull him down even more, and Wonwoo is more than happy to comply. He’s warm all over.

Soonyoung suddenly pulls away. “Can we start over? Pretend that me leaving you never happened because it hurts thinking about how I hurt you.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “I think that’s too important, though.” He smirks a little. “That way you’ll remember never to hurt me again.”

Soonyoung groans, his lower lip jutting into a pout. “Wonwoo-yah, please. I want to stop the hurt.”

“You already did.” He pecks Soonyoung on his lower lip, and another on his nose. “No reason to start over.” The hurt’s gone, mostly, from what Wonwoo can tell; but it’s too early to say. There’s euphoria clouding his judgment, but he doesn’t really mind it. “I really did try my best to get over you, you know? But you just wouldn’t leave. I wanted _you_. I still do.”

Soonyoung relaxes, his eyes half-lidded as he laughs. “You know, I really thought this was gonna be like a movie.”

Wonwoo flops down next to him, and wraps an arm around his waist. His eyes widen. “What do you mean?”

“It’s so stupid.” Soonyoung shakes his head. “I thought coming back would be like this… revelation of you and me. That we could pretend that it didn’t hurt as much as it did and you could give me a shot without hesitation. Looking at each other without hurting ourselves in the process and saying what we wanted to say. That’s all.”

It’s quiet for a while, until Wonwoo replies, “You got your movie moment, though: a confession and a kiss in the rain. Can’t get more cliché than that.”

“Sure, that’s definitely a movie scene; but it’s not what I had in mind.”

Wonwoo’s eyebrows furrow together. “So what _did_ you have in mind?”

At this Soonyoung flushes, toying with the laces of Wonwoo’s hoodie. “Can we just get back to kissing, please?” he whines.

Wonwoo chuckles. “Bet you plucked that scene out from one of those dramas you watch too much. But I guess I can give you one thing, for now.”

He sticks his hand out, nose crinkling in amusement. “Hi, I’m Wonwoo.”

Soonyoung grabs his hand and gives it a firm shake, unable to wipe the smile off his face. “I’m Soonyoung.” Without warning, he yanks Wonwoo towards him, and connects his lips to his once more.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first full writing piece after... two/three years maybe, and my first svt/kpop fic, i hope it was okay! special thanks to mods bill & ted for having this fic fest and resurrecting my writing muse. god bless jackson's parties. i've always wanted to join something like this tbh, and this prompt's been in the back of my mind since early this year — i'm honestly super happy to get this out. 
> 
> super lightly edited bc i never have things edited, oop. save me. title is from the song "new" by daya, one of my forever faves. comments are highly appreciated! thanks for reading ♥️


End file.
